


Haunted

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Vecchio ponders things unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

 

Sometimes, you know, I wonder what woulda happened if I’d said to him, ‘You know, Benny. You’re not the only one who gets haunted by his Old Man.’

 

  
But, he seemed to be having a bad enough Christmas as it was, without me adding to his worries. And I got that. I knew how  _I’d_  freaked out when the Old Man dragged himself out of the grave and back into my life.

 

  
Perfect timing. Right after Angie and I called it quits, there he is, sitting in the kitchen with that graveyard stink.

 

  
So, yeah. I know Benny had a lot to deal with, if it  _was_  his Old Man in the back of the car, and not some kind of Mountie breakdown - which was another possibility. I’d always kinda thought my Old Man might be a breakdown. I don’t know. Who could I ask? But then, Benny scrambles into the passenger side of the car, babbling about his dead Dad, and what are the odds of us both having the same breakdown?

 

  
That’s when I shoulda said something. Coulda, maybe. But I was so used to lying about it - like I’d been used to lying about Pa whe he was alive - and I let the moment slide.

 

  
Besides. I wasn’t sure Benny was interested anyway. I’d kinda mentioned my Old Man to him a few times, couldn’t help telling Benny all kinds of embarrassing truths — and I knew it wasn’t fair on him. Benny seemed uncomfortable talking about it. Dad things, maybe violence, I dunno. Never did figure out why that one topic shut him up like a clam. I’d be just about to spill my guts, and he’d shut up, just like that. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t not say anything either, if you know what I mean. Just looked at me, one of those… what do Frannie’s romances call it… on of those ‘speaking looks.’ Like he wanted to say something, maybe, but didn’t know how. What are you supposed to say to that crap anyway?

  
  
So, yeah, I’d blurt out something I’d never say to anyone else, about Pa and what it was like, and Benny would… well, he’d run out of words. Which, just so you know, never happens. And I’d brush it away, make an excuse, run off for coffee, and bang my head on a wall or something.

 

  
I still don’t know if it would have made a difference, that first Christmas, when he was babbling in my car. Should I have told him I’ve got a ghost too? Would it have bonded us a bit closer if he’d known we were both haunted, or would it have driven us apart even sooner? If he had overheard me ranting at the Old Man and known that it wasn’t my charming Italian temperament, if he’d known I was speaking to a dead guy - would he have understood? Or would he have clammed up, and looked at me with ‘speaking eyes’? Would it have been too close to home, scared him away?

 

  
I don’t know. I don’t know. What can you ever know about Benny? He talks but never says a thing. What I do know is this: sometimes I’d hear him, talking to his Old Man, and he didn’t sound his normal self. He sounded snippy, sounded pissed.

 

  
And I never got to ask him - Benny I mean. I never got to ask him, stupid question — what was it your Dad did that hurt you? Was it something simple? Did your Dad hit you too?

  
  
Doesn’t sound like it. Not the way Pa hit us kids. Sounds like he was the perfect mentor for Benny.

 

  
Sounds worse, to me, to be honest. But there you are. I can never ask now.

  
  
Maybe you got it worse than me, Benny. Maybe you were just lonely, surrounded by a million miles of snow.

  
  
Yeah. That’s what it sounds like. Sounds like you were lonely. Sounds like I was the lucky one.

 

At least my Pop was there to hit me.  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Fanflashworks, amnesty 17. Challenge: Haunted.


End file.
